After uttering that single world, a myriad of tears escaped from those deep brown eyes, once so fun and flirtatious. Their lashes wet, their irises wide, they still invited me. I almost reached out to hold her in my arms, but I refrained, and pursued the conversation.

“You said yes. Yes what, Christabelle? Yes you thought of me when you promised you would marry my cousin? Yes you thought of him while we…”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, with a frailty I had never known spoken from her shimmering pink lips. “Henry, if I could tell you, I would, but-”

“Tell me what, Chris?” She looked on the verge of explaining something to me, when suddenly we were no longer alone.

“There you are, Belle,” Paul exclaimed, holding out his hand for her. She looked nervously back at me before accepting it. “Grandma Dellie wants to see your ring.”

Upon that moment, I decided there was something maniacal in Paul’s expression, something evil that threatened to burst from his skin. I didn’t actually see this, but I assumed so.